


Graveyard

by evenmyneck (stopmopingstarthoping)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/evenmyneck
Summary: In a moment of lucidity, Dimitri longs for his lost love.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Glenn Fraldarius
Kudos: 6





	Graveyard

His voice is weary and pleading. "If you ever truly loved me, spare me this." He’s woken from fitful half-dreams, and they are the worst kind. They are not blood and death and howling demands; no, they are worse, they are sunlight and joy and happiness, and it pains him to wake.  
  
It sounds like Glenn catches his breath. Do ghosts breathe? Dimitri should know, by now, but he does not.   
  
The overlapping, mumbled voices recede and almost disappear (they never truly disappear) in favor of a sure, certain baritone. Dimitri closes his eye (he's learned long ago that that does not matter) and listens. The voice echoes, but grows closer. The Blade of Fhirdiad (because, of course, the father was the shield) they'd called him. Strident and self-assured; Dimitri had known the first moment Glenn caught at his hand that he would follow him anywhere (when Glenn kissed his hand and told him Dimitri must be the one to lead, in the alcove behind his parents' library, it hurt so beautifully).  
  
Tears seep forth. "Why do you torture me with this?"  
  
An almost-real, almost-warm presence curls at his side. "My lion. Are you so far gone that you do not know our visions from your own memories? These are yours."  
  
"Ours," Dimitri rumbles quietly. A breeze stirs his hair and lifts it back (or is that a loving hand? It has been too many years and he lives without gentle touches now).  
  
"Ours." The same breeze gusts past Dimitri's lips and he catches fitfully, uselessly, with a(n always, now) gauntleted hand.   
  
"I miss you," he says to nothing, and no one.  
  
"Of course you do," comes the echoed, cocky refrain.   
  
It's so like him, so filled with personality and _life_ (not like the other mournful demands that haunt his hours, sleeping and waking, there is nothing of the people he loved left in those; only guilt and demand and shame and need) that Dimitri's chest cracks open and he sobs. (Why now? He does not cry, generally, anymore. Not over people, or memories. Some weary day alone, under a tree with apple blossoms that dance in a mocking spring sky, to remind him of Fhirdiad (as though he can spare a moment, an hour without being reminded of Fhirdiad and those he lost), of youth, of an existence that was not a relentless torment?)  
  
He knows why. Suddenly, he is eighteen and about to leave for the monastery, staring at a grave, unwilling to leave it.   
  
He is fifteen and very much in love, for the first time in his life, and being thoroughly kissed by the Blade of Fhirdiad in a deserted hallway while a state ball dances to and fro in the next room. They both belonged to other people, known and unknown, other stations, other roles, but right then they were simply two young men who could only see each other. For a stolen moment, a quiet hour, until even those were gone.   
  
"You were my heart." His voice cracks on the word. "How can I go on without my heart?"  
  
The answer is nothing but the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone mentioned on Twitter that nothing should be "too short" to post on AO3 and I agreed, so I'm posting some of my shorter tweetfics here!


End file.
